


we will still be here after your war

by heirophantomthief



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Lives, Epistolary, Eventual Happy Ending, Letters, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Non-Binary Byleth, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heirophantomthief/pseuds/heirophantomthief
Summary: After the war, Dimitri resumes his investigation into the shadows that haunted his childhood, Linhardt helps.----SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDINGS----mostly canon compliant with silver snowDimitri survives the battle and Grondor Field and returns to Fhirdiad and a changing Fodlan. The Church of Seiros was dismantled following Rhea's transformation. Byleth is building a new government with Ingrid, Lorenz, and Ferdinand overseeing their respective territories. Without the Church or Kingdom hanging over his head, Dimitri finally has time to find answers.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Lysithea von Ordelia, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Annette Fantine Dominic, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Linhardt von Hevring
Kudos: 10





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> CW depression, trauma, memory loss/altered memory, dissociation, violent flashbacks, dark themes, canonical character death
> 
> title is from stars 'in your bedroom after the war'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri arrives in Fhirdiad after several months of recovering at Garreg Mach and several years living like a vengeful ghost. He catches up with Ingrid and Annette, runs some tests with Linhardt, picks up his investigation into the tragedy of Duscar where he left off, and dips into some much larger mysteries.

Great Tree Moon 1187

Dimitri wakes in the quarters he lived in as a prince.

The moderately sized bedchamber is dwarfed by the tall bed-frame that fills it. The mattress that spanned so far when he was young can now barely support his fully stretched frame. The space is warm and efficient, a built in wardrobe, a narrow door to a private washroom, a tarnished mirror, heavy curtains to cover the glazed doors leading to a small balcony outside. The hearth passes through to the adjoining sitting room with his cramped old desk, his books, and a round table with two chairs. Worn rugs warm the stone floor and a few heavy pelts are draped over the chairs. Glenn tutored him at that desk. Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain piled onto this great bed, shared tea with him before the hearth. Every so often his father had strayed from his duties long enough to read young Dimitri to sleep. His mother died before Dimitri left the nursery and Patricia had never entered these chambers. Neither had Edelgard. Less than ten happy years contained in these rooms, less than ten happy years out of twenty-four.

A few short moons have passed since Edelgard's Empire fell and the Church of Seiros burned itself from the inside out. Peace crept over Fodlan and Dimitri found his miserable way to the center, back to the monastery and Byleth. His old professor did not seem surprised to find him slinking through the ruined cathedral one evening. They welcomed him with those blank eyes and their warm smile. _No, Dimitri. You have not failed yet, you are no monster. You are safe now._ They had saved a place for him in their vision of the future—just not yet. The country was in such a state of unbalance the last thing they needed was an unbalanced former prince claiming a discarded throne. _Retire for a while, Dimitri. Take a year without fighting, see your friends, take some time to live and see if you can’t chase those ghosts away._ What could Dimitri do but say yes?

So he lingered at Garreg Mach until the worst snows passed and Byleth filled him in on all that had happened in the last six years or so. The central church was largely dismantled after the archbishop and several of her followers had transformed into beasts and attacked the monastery. After Lady Rhea’s death, Byleth left the battlefield, renounced her position in the church and her hair and eyes darkened to their old deep blue. They spent the last few moons holed up with Ferdinand and Lorenz arguing methods of government to implement once the country is stable. Dimitri rode for Fhirdiad with the thaw, a breath behind the news of his miraculous survival.

Felix and Sylvain are celebrated generals now. Leaders with very important and necessary diplomatic negotiations to attend in Sreng and Dimitri had just missed them. They aren’t expected back in Fhirdiad for a few moons at least, and while the news will likely reach them north of the border, Dimitri hopes they will be far enough away they won’t consider turning back. Dimitri can wait.

Dedue is busy rebuilding the independent state of Duscar. Viscount Kleimann had vanished with the fall of the Faerghus Dukedom. Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius is managing his territory, sorely neglected these past few years with Rodrigue and Felix alternately scouring the country for their lost prince. There are sea routes to Leicester to restore and ports to open to traders from Sreng, Almyra, and beyond.

Ingrid greets him in Fhirdiad. Her father still holds Galatea, so Byleth appointed her temporary governor of the Faerghun Territory, a position they intend to review at the end of a four year reconstruction period. She is a little shocked, very weary, but she seems to have settled into the castle well enough. Ingrid apologizes for claiming the royal chambers. She shouldn’t be sorry, they were never his. He is not king and she needs the space even if she enjoys none of the privacy. She needs the office for the constant flow of ministers and pages and the private dining room for important guests. Dimitri is better off tucked away in his old rooms.

Their first evening together Ingrid rattles off the current status of the rest of the former Blue Lions. Mercedes and Flayn are in Enbarr, Ashe is traveling, and Annette is in Fhirdiad to teach at the Sorcerers Academy with Lysithea. Linhardt Von Hevring, of all people, is here as well. He had trailed after Lysithea for some ongoing crestology study and now he’s staying in the castle and cataloging their modest collection of crest research. Apparently he’d exhausted the scholarship of Adestria and Leicester so Faerghus is the only place left for him. He visits Annette and Lysithea, roams the castle, rambles on about the history and origin of crests at Ingrid, and now he is Dimitri’s daily companion.

~~ooooo~~

They are a week or so in to developing a routine, starting with breakfast together in Dimitri’s cozy sitting room, reading their news and correspondence. Linhardt does not care for idle conversation. He’ll answer Dimitri’s questions about the state of the world and share tidbits of information that would surely be fascinating to someone with a crestological background, but mostly they spend their time in comfortable silence. They split up for most of the day. Linhardt takes shifts in the infirmary and combs through the library. Dimitri walks the grounds until the anxious energy is wrung from his weary bones. He tries to slip into the training yards between battalion drills, but even a blunted lance feels wrong in his hands. He tries a training bow instead, testing his power and control, bending unfamiliar muscles. His aim is mediocre, but not really any worse than when he had two eyes. This is a useful exercise, a goal he can latch onto and work hard to improve. In the evening, Dimitri and Linhardt reconvene for dinner in Ingrid’s private dining chamber. If she has time she’ll even join them.

Linhardt arrives this morning with his deep green hair loose, damp and curling. He yawns delicately and hands off two letters to Dimitri before settling in across from him. Linhardt likes the chair by the fire, he likes the fur stole that may once have been Dimitri’s mother’s, he likes to switch between sweet and savory for breakfast each day. Dimitri watches him spoon porridge into his bowl, followed by dates and apple syrup—sweet today. He thumbs through a decrepit manuscript. Dimitri finds the lack of attention oddly calming, appreciates that Linhardt does not dog him with trivial inquiries or expect more from his company. Dimitri still does not sleep well. His ghosts fade daily but his headaches are dull and constant. He is well, he tells himself. He is home, he is warm, fed, clean. The loudest voice in his head is his own and it will not cease chattering.

Everyone—his dearest friends, former classmates, erstwhile enemies—everyone around him is building a fascinating life in this world they fought for. Dimitri fought for blood and blood is all he got. He has only ever been good for butchery. He spent so long lost that everyone around him had grown up. They hadn’t needed him at all, even Dedue. They accomplished so much without him, surely it could only be worse with him present.

Dimitri takes a deep breath, inhales the scent of chamomile tea, and carefully sets his teacup to the saucer. He examines at the letters Linhardt brought. Both are opened already, who would write Dimitri? The news that the last Blaiddyd is alive and in Fhirdiad has not reached all corners of Fodlan and these missives came all the way from Brigid. One is addressed to Linhardt form Caspar and one to Ingrid from Ashe, detailing their journey with Petra to Brigid. She will be queen there and Ashe is considering staying as one of her knights, though they don’t really have such a thing in Brigid. More classmates off doing extraordinary things while Dimitri ‘retires’ until they can trust him with something.

Linhardt pulls the little round reading lenses down his nose so he can look clearly across the breakfast table to Dimitri. He brandishes the manuscript and clears his throat with a little cough. Dimitri must look quite distant to require this sort of attention grabbing behavior.

“I imagine you must be curious about my unusual reading material.”

Dimitri hadn’t given it much thought, so he dutifully directs his attention to the manuscript. The thick pages are densely printed with unsettling symbols and held together by a cracked leather folio. It reeks of dust and magic and flaky brown specks of something are drifting into the tureen of eggs between them. “I’ve found an unusual trove of materials under the castle, I think we can find all the answers you were looking for way back at Garreg Mach.”

Dimitri’s hands clamp involuntarily on the edge of the table with an ominous creak. 

“Wait, what?”

“While I spent many hours of peaceful rest in the monastery library, I did noticed your little late night research sessions.” Linhardt’s lips curve in a smile that is altogether too clever for his sleepy affect. “I was hoping you could tell me everything you know about the mage Cornelia. I was able to track down some of her work in Enbarr before she made a name here. You shared this castle with her nearly your whole life, right?”

Dimitri swallows loudly, his mouth suddenly very dry. He breaks from Linhardt’s calm gaze to nod slowly and collect his thoughts.

“Yes,” he replies, “I did.”

Dimitri was not prepared for the sudden swell of emotion tightening his chest or the dampness creeping in the corner of his eye.

“My birth mother succumbed to a terrible illness when I was very young. A plague ravaged Faerghus until Cornelia Arnim came from Adestria and produced a cure. She was too late to save my mother, but my father was deeply grateful. Many healers in the capitol had died and she was exceptionally gifted, so he appointed her to the royal household. As far as I know she rarely left Fhirdiad, although I did not have much to do with her as a child. After, when Garreg Mach fell, she imprisoned me. She tried to kill me. When I escaped, I ran…if I had marched on Fhirdiad instead of—” he blinks the tears away. “Anyways, she left before Byleth could capture her.”

“Indeed.” Linhardt politely ignores that last bit. “For someone who served here so long, the castle holds few records of her activity—until I searched the dungeons. Before the witch deposed of you, dear prince, she must have needed a place to conceal her work. She appears to have sealed off the lower levels of the castle to house her research laboratory. Perhaps that’s why she executed so many prisoners during her reign as ‘duchess’, she had no where to put them? In any case it's the most extensive and intact dark magic lab I’ve seen. Every other Agarthan facility I’ve investigated was destroyed, but she must not have had time when she fled.”

The casual reminder of Cornelia’s cruelty as duchess rouses the spiteful voice in Dimitri’s head. He failed so spectacularly, abandoned his people, never fought her. Disgusting. Why couldn’t he fight her? How could Linhardt speak so blithely when all this was Dimitri’s fault.

“Agarthan?” Dimitri croaks. When did he stand? He gentles the fingers still gripping the tabletop, loosens the lacy fabric twisted around his gloves.

“Yes,” Linhardt continues dreamily, “the ones Hubert so cleverly called ‘those who slither in the dark’. They called themselves Agarthans, turns out they were behind all kinds of events for centuries. You remember Kronya and Solan…uh, and Remire Village...Byleth told you about Shambhala right?”

“Yes.” A city underground, not dank, black and stinking like the dungeons but pulsing with strange light.

“Would you sit back down?” Linhardt gestures to his chair, inviting the former prince to seat himself at his own breakfast table. “How about you drink your tea and I’ll tell you my plan and we can get back to the details later.”

“You have a plan?”

“Of course I have a plan, Dimitri. I do nothing without reason. And when there’s no reason, I do nothing.”

Dimitri is once again grateful for Linhardt’s complete disregard for genteel etiquette. He is soft and comfortable with Dimitri, yet he does not hesitate to guide their conversation firmly or speak plainly. He has no qualms about ordering Dimitri around. So he sits with his hands in his lap, looks at his teacup, and waits for Linhardt to continue.

“There is a wealth of information to go through and my main objective is to understand the crest experiments that gave Lysithea a second crest. I intend to remove one or both of them to restore her lifespan. While those specific procedures were not done here, Cornelia appears to have been involved in a variety of crest related projects, including what she did to Hapi. I don’t expect you to assist translating Agarthan texts or piecing together their rituals, but I was hoping you might help untangle her movements above ground. We can’t build a new Fodlan if we don’t know which strings these ghouls were pulling and why.

“I cannot guarantee your revenge, but I am confident that, in addition to accomplishing my goals, we’ll discover exactly who was responsible for what happened at Duscar.”

He sweeps to the door, breakfast apparently forgotten or done. “I look forward to working with you Dimitri.” He smiles warmly, gives Dimitri an odd little bow, and promptly leaves before Dimitri can string together a response.

~~oooo~~

Dimitri decides that today he will go for a ride.

He does not recognize the horses in the stable or the stablehands attending them, but the mount he selects seems healthy and responsive. He follows fragments of trails he once knew and enjoys the crisp, refreshing air of Faerghun spring. Achingly familiar sights are cut and jumbled with the scars of war. The castle is situated south of the river and the rest of the city, with untouched forest stretching south along the coast reserved of hunting. He loops through the woods, well preserved through the war to entice game near the castle. Heading east he finds once broad inviting parklands are rutted, surrounding fields are spoilt, irrigation ditches polluted, and the old fish pond is half filled with debris. Dimitri hits the main road and follows it back toward the main gate. The bones of Fhirdiad stand firm. The city walls were not badly damaged in the war, only worn and scabbed from years of substandard maintenance. An extended marketplace rises ramshackle from the mud outside the gates and the streets within are cluttered with raw new construction.

Inside, Dimitri flits around the castle like a ghost. The structure itself is much the same as it was, a brutish old castle retrofitted to provide the comfort of a modern manor home, but it fails to feel familiar. Everyone in the castle must know who he is, but Dimitri knows none of them. Any old servants loyal to Blaiddyd must be either dead or fled, same for any too loyal to the Empire. The ministers and clerks Ingrid manages are all second and third sons, nieces and nephews of minor lords, commoners who sought refuge from the war—no one worthy of the crown prince’s attention before.

He needs to ask where the common baths are to wash up, the little tub in his washroom is much too small to soak in. Next he heads up the north tower to check the library for Linhardt. Most of the collection is housed in two levels, a maze of cramped shelves kept safely in dim light and warded against pests. No Linhardt there. The topmost floor is the reading room, easily Lin’s favorite place in all Fhirdiad. A few low shelves are stocked with contemporary works and the windows set in the angled ceiling flood the room with light. Long work tables provide plenty of space for arranging materials and a few comfy sofas cluster around the single massive hearth. Dimitri does not find Linhardt.

Between Rufus, Cornelia, and now Ingrid, it is difficult to compile a written record of kingdom government from the last decade, but Linhardt has assembled all he could find here. He found personal affects of King Lambert squirreled away in odd places around the castle along with crates of letters and old ledgers from his reign. Ingrid had mined Rufus’ old account-books for harvest reports and tax data before clearing her office and dumping the pile here for Lin to sort through. There must be more somewhere though. Where are the notes from privy council meetings? Where are the records of complaints lodged and disputes settled in the high and low courts? Dimitri’s uncle was regent for five years and a member of Lambert’s council before then, Cornelia as well. How was he to know which policies they championed, which they terminated, and whether they were in agreement or at odds? Was it too much to hope they might find written proof of Cornelia’s informants and allies? If not here, where might they be? Rufus occasionally retreated to his manor at Itha, and he kept a ‘discrete’ townhome in Fhirdiad—to entertain women away from the castle, Dimitri had always assumed. He’ll let Linhardt handle Cornelia’s dungeon, Dimitri can focus on excising his family’s secrets from this mess.

Ingrid coaxes Dimitri from the library to join her in the main hall for dinner. He keeps his eye on his plate and ears tuned to Ingrid’s voice if not her words. The clamor of silverware, the sawing of meat, the bustle of bodies, the smell of men and wine and smoke—it’s almost overwhelming. He catches the name ‘Dedue’ as it trickles past and Dimitri redirects his attention wholly to his dinner companion. 

“…he stayed in touch with the men of Duscar we fought at the academy.”

“I did not know.” Dimitri frowns. Restoring Duscar had once been his ultimate goal, the force driving him to claim his crown. He needed the authority to uncover who was responsible for the Tragedy so the people of Duscar would be absolved and the true culprits punished. How had he missed this? Either Dedue had never told him or Dimitri had forgotten. Either option proved his failure as a prince and a friend.

“Dimitri,” Ingrid chides, “you know you couldn’t have known everything. Dedue trusted that you would help as king, but he didn’t expect you to do it all yourself and he wasn’t going to wait if he didn’t have to. It turns out Viscount Kleimann was struggling to hold the territory as soon as he got it and didn’t cry for aid because he was ashamed of doing such a shit job.”

A little huff of laughter escapes Dimitri’s lips as the good knight Ingrid badmouths a lord (villain he may be). And she said his name so naturally, _Dimitri_ , lightly scolding like they’re children. He feels traitorous tears welling up again and his throat tightens.

“The refugees”, Ingrid continues, “or Dedue says I should just say ‘Duscar’ to refer to his countrymen, started organizing in the mountains after the massacre. Kleimann and the regent didn’t really have the resources to keep them down so they mostly ignored it. Dedue asked them to help bust you out of jail and they helped him recover after. He thought you were dead again, so he stayed with Duscar until he heard you might be alive and joined the resistance. After taking Enbarr, Byleth called for Kleimann’s arrest and Duscar laid siege to his stronghold, but somehow he vanished before they could capture him.”

“Just like Cornelia”

“Yeah, she abandoned Fhirdiad before we got here. Honestly we’re lucky she didn’t leave it burning. She’s probably off the continent by now, I’ve been a little too wrapped up in, you know, governing,” Ingrid gestures vaguely around the hall, at the people depending on her for a brighter future, “to think about tracking her down.”

Dimitri’s meagre appetite disappears and he shoves his plate to Ingrid, “I am so sorry this burden has fallen on you, Ingrid. If I were not such a useless prince—”

“Stop right there,” Ingrid glares at him and viciously spears a roast potato from his plate. “I’m governing Faerghus because I want to and I’m good at it. If the war proved anything it’s that there are a lot of capable leaders in this country without depending on bloodlines, crests, or dynasties. Byleth refused to become King of Fodlan because they didn’t want to dump all this on one person. They’re back at Garreg Mach with Lorenz and Ferdie cooking up a new system of government, so no more _children_ will be required to prop up a monarchy. You don’t need to be a prince to be worthy, Dimitri. And you’re not useless, you’re alive. That’s a lot more than any of us hoped for a long time.”

~~ooo~~

The following morning Linhardt guides Dimitri down narrow sloping streets to the burnt husk of the Royal School of Sorcery, an early casualty of the riots that followed Rufus’ murder and the crown prince’s execution. Reconstruction warped the location just enough that Dimitri might not have found it on his own. Within the blackened walls they find the former entrance hall transformed into a lush, open courtyard. Fresh plaster coats the walls of an upper gallery, and a wooden scaffold carries workers to repair the roof over the dormitories. Long covered walkways stretch back to squat towers, glimpses of a hybrid restoration that blends charred stonework with—

A small woman launches from one such corridor and Annette Dominic envelopes Dimitri in a crushing hug.

“Welcome to the New Fhirdiad Sorcerer's Academy!” she trills. He holds her for a moment, wrapped tight in his arms and spinning from the momentum of her assault. Her shoes must be at least two feet off the flagstones before he softly sets her down. She takes his hand and leads him to a tea table under a shaded canopy. The spread is nearly identical to the ones they used to share at Garreg Mach, with starched cloth and teapots and trays of sweets. Annette probably took notes on those too.

Linhardt is already lounging and deep in impenetrable conversation with Lysithea, who is deep in a heavy slice of honey almond cake. Annette steers Dimitri to his seat, beaming like the sun, chattering brightly.

“Our first term starts next moon! We were hoping to be ready at the start of Great Tree, but with repairs and the weather, and then the dormitory roof was leaking!” She is pouring him tea and suggesting sweets and nearly pushes an egg custard into Dimitri’s lap before he catches her hand once more.

“I am so glad to see you Annette.”

She bursts into tears. Oh no.

“Your highn—your—Dimitri,” she sobs and waves her hands limply, escaping Dimitri’s gentle grip. Lysithea hops up to loop her arms around Annette’s neck, shushing and soothing and scowling at Dimitri. This is his fault, obviously.

“Annie, he’s not dead, you don’t have to cry anymore.”

“It know, it’s just,” she whimpers incoherently.

Lysithea straightens up and brushes the crumbs from her short gown. She rests her hand protectively on Annette’s shoulder, the model of tiny, curt, authority.

“Alright, Lin and I are going to go talk in my office. You guys figure this out and I’ll see you later, ok?” She gives Annie a pat on the head before snagging a plate of cakes and dragging Linhardt down the corridor.

Dimitri lays his hand in the space between them and shifts forward in his seat a little, trying to gauge her expression but her scrunched up face is poised an inch off the tablecloth, revealing nothing.

“Annette?”

She pitches back, chair almost toppling, and wails.

“We left you,” her voice breaks.

“Annette,” Dimitri can’t meet her tear filled eyes so he tries to focus instead on the large cream colored bow tied around her throat, or her hair, which is gathered in loops below her ears like she wore at the academy, though longer and fuller now.

“Annette, you didn’t leave me, and if you had found me then , I don’t think you could have helped.”

I abandoned you and all my lions and the people of Faerghus to bathe in Imperial blood. I lived and I didn’t kill the witch who captured me. I was less than a beast. I led men to die while I failed to murder my sister. Only Dimitri’s voice echoes in his head now and it is not helping.

“But I was here in Fhirdiad!” Annette squeaks, “I didn’t think you were guilty but I didn’t know you were alive, I didn’t know you escaped. When my father left to look for you—I didn’t believe him. I wrote to Felix and Sylvain when I could but—I don’t think it helped very much—I thought it would be better—safer—to stay with my mother and just pass information. I didn’t even join the resistance until I heard the professor was back. If I had gone with my father, or if we fought Cornelia at the beginning—we were too late…”

She buries her face in her hands, gasping.

“Annette,” Dimitri starts slowly. He doesn’t know how to do this anymore. The prince at the academy was house leader, he could have consoled a classmate. He could have comforted a friend. The prince could have tea with no tears at all.

“Annette, from what I can see, you all did very well without me. I am a lucky man to live to see you again. And your father…Gustave would have done better to stay by your side. Following me did him no good.”

~~oo~~

Dimitri is grateful there are no students yet at the New Fhirdiad Sorcerer’s Academy. They would have found their young headmaster sitting on the broken cobblestones, propped against the disgraced prince of Faerghus. They lean back on a low wall in the courtyard, teacups abandoned, exhausted and thoroughly drained of tears. Annette’s head rests on Dimitri’s shoulder as he strokes her hair. It is intimate in a way they have never been before, but it feels comfortable, familiar.

“I wish I had known you growing up,” Dimitri muses. Annette’s pointed chin digs into his chest as she turns to look up at him. “Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain were my dearest friends—I love them dearly still—but they could never stay with me. If you and I had been friends growing up, we could have seen each other all the time.”

Long years have passed since Dimitri had the time or mind to reminisce about his childhood. Before the tragedy, he spent nearly every midwinter with Felix, Glenn, Sylvain, and Ingrid. For a moon or more they would bundle up to romp in the snow until early twilight. They piled on furs before the roaring fire to read and snack until they fell asleep in a heap. On his birthday they would stay up all night playing games while the adults celebrated the crown prince with their own raucous party and the whole castle would sleep till noon the next day.

He spent entire summers in Fraldarius with Felix and Glenn, living like brothers while their fathers marched to war in Sreng. When he dreams, he dreams of those moons with Felix. They trained together every morning before roaming the hills and rocky shores like tiny wandering knights. When Felix visited Fhirdiad he would endure long hours of lessons with Dimitri, fidgeting through lectures on history and etiquette until they were free to climb trees and wade in the icy streams. Then Felix would vanish and the dream was ended. Between visits Dimitri might spend whole seasons alone while Felix was off to Gautier or Galatea or simply at home without Dimitri. When Glenn came to live in Fhirdiad as a squire he wasn’t like a brother anymore. Then he was a knight in waiting, ready to swear himself to his lord.

Why had Dimitri not met Annette as a child? He was allowed other noble friends, and House Dominic passed down a title, a crest, and a relic to match. They held no great estate and swore no vassals, but Gustave served King Lambert as a captain of knights. He kept a fine house in Fhirdiad and his wife managed a few tenant farmers outside the city. They earned honor serving the crown rather than brokering wealth and influence. Gustave had otherwise been utterly devoted to the royal family, why did he not offer his daughter as a companion to the prince?

“Annette, why did I not meet you as a child? Gustave was at the castle nearly every day.”

“My father thought I would be a distraction,” she replies promptly.

Annette sniffs and straightens up, leaning away from Dimitri a little. It is difficult to talk about her father like this. She spent so many years devoted to him without question and many years after trying desperately to understand him.

“He said there was no reason for us to meet. I wasn’t going to be a knight, so I couldn’t serve you and I was not—suitable—to be your queen, so…that’s it. Protecting and training you was his job, serving the King was his job. I could not help you so…he kept me from distracting the prince.”

“Apologies to the dead, Annette, but your father was a fool.”

She surprises him with a giggle at that and turns to face him, settling on her knees and smiling warmly.

“Apology accepted. He would have been upset by something silly like that and he didn’t even balk when you were—“ she stops abruptly, her face frozen, eyes wide and lips trembling. She backpedals ferociously as only Annette can.

“I am so sorry, Dimitri, I didn’t mean to remind you of— or I didn’t mean you were—”

“It’s alright, Annette. I understand."

Gustave took his oath very seriously. He was devoted to the crown, but he did not consider the the man who wore it. He was more concerned with his honor than the casualties of his actions. He would have been right not to follow me—he would have been right to kill me if he could. He chose to follow a viscous beast to his last breath and never questioned if I was worth it. He helped a corpse lead men to their doom with no hope for victory.

“Growing up, I thought he was the pinnacle of chivalry. He wasn’t like the hero in a story, but he was a stalwart, loyal, and obedient. Rodrigue may have been my father’s shield in battle, but Gustave was his shield every day. He trained me in sword, lance, and spear, he taught me tactics, he spent more time with me than my own father—so much I never knew he had his own family.

“I am deeply ashamed to admit it…but, of all of them, I was not haunted by his death.”

~~o~~

By the time Linhardt comes to collect him, Dimitri and Annette have regained their seats at the table, digging into a cold egg custard. They chat amiably though Linhardt can see the trace of emotional wreckage clear on their faces.

“Have a good cry?” he asks.

“Yes,” Annette beams, “we’re childhood friends now. Not because we knew each other as kids but because we bonded over the impact of my father’s failures on our childhoods.”

“Excellent. Dimitri, come along. We’ve got work to do.”

~~o~~

For the first time since his return, Dimitri feels the dark cloud over his mind lift. His conversation with Annette was unbelievably refreshing. He unburdened a great weight of sorrow, fear, guilt, and anger. He feels like he can do this now, he can live.

At the academy his friendships were shadowed by secret hurts and the blossoming war, but in one morning it’s all turned around. He sees how can rebuild their relationships deeper and stronger. They can all be so much better than their parents were.

As they climb towards the castle, however, Dimitri’s agitation grows. This worked very well with kind, forgiving Annette, but what about the others? Annette had only known the charming prince at the academy. She barely saw the monster he became and she couldn’t compare him to the soft boy he’d been. She did not feel betrayed by his falsity or viciousness. His old friends might not embrace him so easily. And what of those he didn’t have a relationship with before? Annette had some good memories to pull from, some grounds to trust him. Why would anyone else?

He and Linhardt had no prior connection to build on, surely the mage only saw him as a means to an end—only broken enough to be harmless and sufficiently alive to be useful. Dimitri barely spoke to Linhardt when they were at the Academy. He kept a quiet distance from all the Black Eagles students. Edelgard’s coolness at their reunion had been more than enough to ward Dimitri off approaching anyone in her house. Initially he felt betrayed when she would not acknowledge him as anything but a stranger. He made peace believing she had political motivation to keep their past a secret and accepted the loss. He had been such a foolish little boy to think she cared enough to lie when she simply did not remember him at all.

He remembers Linhardt drowsing through the one faith magic seminar they both attended. He remembers Lin ensconced in books late at night in the library, Lin napping in the training hall while Dimitri and Caspar brawled. He remembers one quiet evening spotting Linhardt and the professor fishing off the pier. He might have said hello then but, fascinating as the professor was, he tried not to disturb them while they were with students. His classmates spent more time with the Adestrians, but as leader of his own house, Dimitri could not accompany them on missions or consider transferring like Mercedes had.

Linhardt was with the former Black Eagles from their reunion with the professor, before most of the Blue Lions joined the fight against Edelgard. They even absorbed some of the Golden Deer with Hilda, Leonie, Lysithea and Lorenz joining the resistance while Claude maintained a facade of Alliance neutrality to provide sanctuary to his less combative school friends. Dimitri had not fought the same war as them. He was now more of an outsider in his own castle than Linhardt von Hevring.

Linhardt marches them straight up to the library tower, unfazed by Dimitri’s silence throughout their walk—he must have been lost in thought as well. They settle at a long table, which Linhardt quickly spreads with books and folios borrowed from Lysithea. Dimitri clears his throat.

“Linhardt, I want to help you, truly, and I will do all that I can. However, I do not believe I remember anything useful from my childhood. Talking to Annette—I realize how sheltered I was from the troubles outside and how blind I was to the troubles in front of me. Father let me sit in on some councils and I was taught a great deal of history and theory, but I heard little of intrigues within Faerghun court and next to nothing about current relations with the Empire. I know Cornelia was often with my stepmother when I was not there. My stepmother was kind to me, but she never talked about her life outside the Kingdom or anything private really. After my father died, well—I was not well for a while—I needed to recover. That was the only time I was injured enough for Cornelia to heal me. After that I was focused on proving the innocence of Duscar and I never suspected her of anything. I don’t know why any of it happened.”

“My dear prince, while I do hope you miraculously remember some vital clue, I mostly wanted to delegate the study of personal records to you. I’ll stick to the crest and dark magic stuff and you can handle your dad’s old diaries and whatever your uncle was up to. Even if you don’t remember anything specific, you will likely be able to make connections I would not because of your familiarity with the subjects.”

Dimitri can do that. That sounds doable. This next part, this is harder. 

“There’s something else, Lin, about Cornelia, but it’s not from my childhood and I don’t—I don’t know how much of it was real?

“When I was a prisoner here, I was kept in that dungeon.

"Cornelia told me things. I don’t know what was truth or lies. Every word she said was poison.

“Lin, when I was down there, she did things to me, too.”

~~oo~~

“What did she say to you?” Linhardt speaks softly as he usually does.

Dimitri cannot detect any shift in tone since his admission. Of course Linhardt would take it in stride, he’s spent years talking to Lysithea about her experience, not to mention his time as a battlefield healer. There is likely nothing Dimitri could say that would shock him. Not that he’s angling for pity, he doesn’t deserve that. Delicate treatment will not undo the heinous things he did any more than it will undo what was done to him.

Linhardt is busy arranging a heavy brass plate on the table between them. The edges are raised with etched interlocking sigils surrounding the smoothly burnished center. He had offered to set up the device in one of their private rooms, but Dimitri could sense the undercurrent of urgency beneath the mage’s general laconic curiosity. Better to get this done so they can get back to their other business.

Dimitri clears his throat, suddenly aware of his lengthy silence.

“Cornelia said my stepmother despised me, and that she was the one who arranged my father’s murder.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“No, she was a gentle woman.” Dimitri grimaces, thankful Linhardt’s attention is on his work. “I know Patricia did not love me like—like her own, but I don’t believe she had anything to do with Duscar. Besides, she died there.”

Linhardt hums acknowledgment, “What else did Cornelia say?”

“She said many foul things about my father,” he growls, a low ripple from his gut.

 _The things she said_.

He recalls Cornelia’s pale mask-like features warped with pleasure, spewing filth from her lips as her knife curls into his flesh. One powerful hand grips his jaw, forcing him to meet her gaze. He need only close his eye to see the shriveled corpse of his stepmother screaming in the dark of his dormitory bedroom, an echoing screech only he can hear. He sees the disgust etched in Lambert’s gaunt face, looming above him every night when Dimitri kneels to beg forgiveness. He watches flames lick the walls of an overturned carriage as Patricia’s frantic cries subside and her pounding fists stutter out. Firelight catches the edge of the ax as it finds his father’s throat. Duscar is always just below the surface.

Strong arms lift him up, away, a moment of safety before—

Dimitri takes a breath and plunges deeper. Beneath all that, if he pushes through, he can see a frozen sun drenched garden. His father towering safe and tall. He can follow the ghost of a song to his stepmother sewing at the window.

The clink of glass draws him back. Linhardt screws the end of a flexible tube into the side of the plate and fixes a conical glass cup to the free end. He taps one slender finger to the circling sigils and they buzz to life with a whisper.

“Lay your hand here, Dimitri.”

It is easy to obey. Dimitri peels off his right glove and lays his palm on the polished brass. The back of his hand is as pitted and crossed with scars as any Faerghun warrior, interrupted by a few pinkish burns reaching around his thumb and wrist.

Like all Fodlan nobles, Dimitri’s blood was tested for a crest long before he could remember. This device is Linhardt’s own design, modeled on an invention of Professor Hanneman, made simple, portable, and bloodless. Linhardt scoots Dimitri’s hand slightly to center and positions the glass cup to hover a few inches above.

“Ready?” He asks, “You should feel a tingle, nothing too unpleasant.”

Dimitri nods his assent. As Linhardt channels a spell through the plate, the space between crosshatched skin and hollow glass begins to glow. Dimitri does not feel a tingle, but he is accustomed to dulled sensation in his palms. The light solidifies to draw out a few curving lines. Dimitri cannot recall the last time he saw the flash of his crest activate in battle, but he could never forget mark of Blaiddyd. The symbol is present in this very room, carved prominently in mantel over the fire and minutely woven in fabric of the cushions they sit on. The pattern tracing itself in the air is very clearly not the crest of Blaiddyd.

Linhardt stares intently as the crest sign stutters, breaks apart, and flickers back shifting and uncertain. It flares in a bright flash of blue light and dissipates.

“What was that?”

“Hmm…” Linhardt does not seem surprised, just interested.

He removes Dimitri’s hand and replaces it with his own. He repositions the cup and begins to channel the spell again. As a spectator this time Dimitri can watch closely as drops of light bead on the unblemished surface of Linhardt’s skin. They lift up to coalesce into two swooping concentric ‘u’ shapes that pinch into points at the bottom. A wavy inverted ‘v’ slashes a peak through them. The light is fainter than Dimitri’s, pale green and steady where his had pulsed erratically.

The symbol is identical.

Linhardt sets the cup down, breaking the spell. He laces his elegant fingers together to rest his chin in their cradle and fixes Dimitri’s eye to his own.

“I already ruled out a second crest like Edelgard or Lysithea as your hair did not lose color. My initial hypothesis is that your crest was replaced. Much of their magic seems to rely on blood and we know the Agarthans had access to Flayn’s. It appears they used it to implant a synthetic version of her crest in you—a crest of Cethlaenn like mine. I detect no trace of the crest of Blaiddyd remaining. What Cornelia intended to do with it or whether it was removed to facilitate the implanted crest…”

Linhardt continues talking, something about Agarthans not being able to support crests of their own, or withholding it to control Dimitri as a puppet. His voice fades to a dull drone as static rushes between Dimitri’s ears.

When was the last time he used his crest? Had he really not noticed it was gone, did he kill scores of Imperials without it? Had he clawed a bloody trail across Grondor Field without it? He didn’t have Areadbhar with him, to make the absence obvious. He quickly stopped relying on weapons beyond his brutal fists. What does Flayn’s crest even do? Had he used it?

Flayn was like Rhea and Seteth—Nabatean, Byleth said—they lived thousands of years. Rhea’s blood kept Jeralt from aging and transformed her bishops into raging beasts. The professor was like them too, she slept for five years after she fell—is that how Dimitri survived? His years in the wild are blurred at best. He was badly wounded escaping Fhirdiad, on top of the scars from Cornelia, his missing eye, running even after he saw Dedue fall. He hid for some time lost in fever and despair. When he recovered enough he began hunting Imperials. He crushed their skulls, woke, hunted, and killed again and again.

He lived years like this without counting. He would wake with new scars, wake in frigid rivers and lonely caves. He woke in ruined camps among the piled dead. He haunted the outskirts of civilization, a ghastly scavenger, unrecognized until Rodrigue led him to battle.

~~ooo~~

He remembers the first lance erupting through his chest at Grondor. On the rise, directing her battalions, he can see Edelgard, he has almost reached her. His armored knees smack the earth. Breathless, his gauntleted fingers are claws scrabbling uselessly at the protruding blade. Edelgard watches him fall, does not raise her ax to finish him. She won’t have to. No. He is not done yet. His arms catch before his face hits dirt. An arrow burrows longways into his shoulder. He is so close. On elbows and knees now, if he can get one good breath he could surge forward, clear the distance in a heartbeat, sweep those curving horns from his sister’s head and bring her down with him.

The second lance is slow and deliberate, it presses through the meat of his middle and churns into the blood-wet mud below, pinning him in place. The din of battle dims to a dull roar. Breathless. He can see Edelgard turn away. He does not hear Gustave or Rodrigue. Those fools, he’s already dead.

“Dimitri.”

The low voice calls him back.

The library, the afternoon light, the well-worn wood, the soft crackle from the fireplace.

“Dimitri.”

Linhardt’s long face swims into view. The crest device is securely stowed in its case. Supple hands cup the mess of Dimitri’s massive paw, stroking over the palm where his flesh is a mass thick pink scar tissue segmented by a few deep fissures. Dimitri can feel the residual warmth of healing magic soothing his skin.

“Do you have trouble with flexibility? Magic can’t do much for old wounds like this, but I have an ointment that might help.”

Dimitri’s eye drops to the tabletop where a dagger lies unsheathed. The dagger. That dagger. He’s carried it every day since Byleth returned it to him. Was he showing it to Lin?

The healing magic trickles halfway down his forearm to close a stinging cut.

“Thank you for the sample, Dimitri, but I’d like you to let me do it next time. I have tools for this.”

A handkerchief is folded tidily under the blade, as though it has just been wiped clean. A small glass case with a sliding cover rests near it, the interior smeared with red.

“Dimitri”

“I’m here.”

Linhardt’s hands linger after the healing spell, one lightly stroking Dimitri’s palm and the other pressed gently to his pulse.

“I’m glad you’re with me, Dimitri.”

~~oooo~~

“When I approached you I was not aware how close—how personally—you were involved in my investigation. I understand if this complicates things. You need not accompany me to the dungeons and if you do not feel comfortable, you are not obligated to assist me at all.”

“I am grateful for your concern, Linhardt, truly. I am, uncertain, myself, what I am capable of right now.”

“I can test the blood to assess your health, and we can catalogue the effects you’ve experienced since your imprisonment to determine if you face similar risks to Lysithea. As her crests put her life in immediate danger, finding a solution for her is still my primary goal. However, Cornelia poses a more insidious threat than I initially thought—”

“She cannot be allowed to continue,” Dimitri interjects, more resolutely than he feels, “I believe your approach is correct. You must understand their methods in order to save Lysithea, and we must learn Cornelia’s objective in order to defeat her.”

“In that case, I have something I’d like you to work on while I start the tests.”

Linhardt rummages through their heaped research materials, retrieving a slick rectangular chest. Although he can’t quite place it, the box feels familiar to Dimitri. The dark wood is seamless, almost featureless, save for a coin sized crest of Blaiddyd carved on top.

“Thank you, Linhardt, for letting me do this. I will start at once.” He takes the box, it's not heavy, and prepares to leave,

“Um, Linhardt,” His voice catches, “could we keep what we spoke of today between us, for now? I do not wish to worry anyone further.”

“Of course, my prince. As you wish.”

~~ooooo~~

Dimitri eats dinner in his sitting room with only the smooth, sealed box for company. Closer investigation reveals subtle joinery disguising the lips and hinges, but no obvious point of entry. It is magically sealed, undoubtedly hiding something valuable or deeply personal. Dimitri can open it though, he might be the only person left in Fodlan who can.

The royal Blaiddyd signet ring was not used after Lambert’s death. Rufus used an alternate seal as regent, reserving the royal ring for the prince. Ingrid found it stowed unceremoniously in a stuck dresser drawer and passed it along to Dimitri.

He rubs the pad of his thumb over the incised crest adorning the heavy ring. He twists the ornate rim, levering a tiny spike into place in the center of the engraving. This should work, he hopes it will. Even without his crest he still has Blaiddyd blood, right? Dimitri pricks his thumb, retracts the spike, and presses the bead of blood into the sigil on the box. The ring hums as he lines up the matching crests, and the front panel drops open with a minute puff of dust.

Stacked neatly inside, orderly despite being packed to bursting, are letters. Dimitri gingerly removes one sheet of creased, heavy paper, brushing over the blue-gray wax of a seal stamped with the Fraldarius crest. Every single letter is marked thus. Single folded sheets indicate personal correspondence, likely bundled along with more extensive official reports. They appear to be organized chronologically, the oldest dated shortly after Lambert’s coronation. Rifling through, he selects a letter from the year Cornelia arrived in Fhirdiad, the year his mother died, the year of Dimitri’s third birthday.

6 Wyvern Moon 1165

His Majesty King Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd

_An unknown illness plagues Port Fraldarius. Two weeks past a trading vessel called the Bright Sea Star arrived carrying a hold of Almyran wine and textiles from Derdrieu. Four of the dockhands who unloaded the ship, an inn-keep who served the sailors, and several others known to have contact with the Star have died of a sudden fever. All new entrants to the port will be kept at dock ten days before allowed to come ashore. In spite of these precautions, the fever has spread among the townsfolk and I have heard similar reports from Conand down to Galatea. Fhirdiad must prepare for an influx of travelers carrying disease. Healing magic and conventional remedies have not been effective. My home is yet untouched, the boys are safe and healthy. I pray to Seiros this illness burns out before it reaches the Capitol, it will spread quickly in a dense population. The dukedom is already suffering a loss in tariffs from the slowed shipping._

Goddess Bless,

Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius

~~oooooo~~

The letters continue in this vein, each one from Rodrigue to Lambert. Most contain some brief account of personal news or gossip, or a comment in some unknown ongoing dialogue. Many maintain the formality owed a king from his duke, while others range from goading to despondent. Dimitri knew they were close, boyhood friends like he, Felix, and Glenn had been. He can scrape up images of them drawing each other away from meetings, standing aside at social functions, sharing whispers and quiet smiles. It is evident Rodrigue spoke his mind openly to the King—including criticism—clearly not fearful of retribution. Dimitri will have to reach out to Duke Rodrigue. Perhaps he has saved the counterpoints to these missives, sealed with royal Blaiddyd blue.

~~oooooo~~

28 Red Wolf Moon 1165

_We have had no new deaths from plague for twelve days. Shipping has ceased altogether and will not resume until the spring thaw—we have no mages available to open the bay. I regret to inform you Duchess Isa’s pregnancy has ended prematurely. Glenn and Felix remain well. I fear that even with the lapse in infection we face a terrible winter. Many were unable to take in their last harvests before the frost. Wolves have become brave without hunters to cull them. I fear I find little to celebrate this Founding Day. I will not be traveling to Fhirdiad to celebrate your son’s third birthday, I pray that you and your family remain safe._

20 Ethereal Moon 1165

_I just received word of the Queen’s death. I deeply regret to be away from you at such a time. The Dukedom is cold and still. Isa is unwell. I pray to Sothis our children are spared. I find myself believing the whispers that this plague is a curse on all Faerghus. Should we survive to see the spring we must seek the Goddess’ forgiveness and appeal for her favor._

8 Guardian Moon 1165

_Your last letter brought me great relief. I have heard only horrors of how hard the fever struck Fhirdiad. To have a cure is truly a miracle of the Goddess. As a fellow practitioner of the healing arts, I anticipate meeting this Adestrian mage, her skill must far surpass my own. Perhaps she may share some wisdom from the Empire to strengthen our own faith. The Duchess’ health is greatly improved though I fear she well bear me no further children._

20 Great Tree Moon 1166

_It brings me great joy to hear of your successes in the Capitol. Lady Cornelia is surely a saint to assist you. The port of Fraldarius is free of ice and ships arrive daily. I agree with your suggestion we take greater precautions in the passage of travelers, merchants, and goods across our borders. We cannot allow another plague to ravage the country in our lifetime. Our greatest duty is to protect the people of Faerghus. I will attend the council at the Blue Sea Moon so we may discuss this further. Greatest thanks to Sothis and her Saints._

3 Wyvern Moon 1166

_I have only just returned from Fhirdiad yet I have already drafted several new proposals regarding our revised trade arrangement with the Alliance. Our sea ports are far too vulnerable to continue allowing their current privileges. Writing the old duke I am reminded of our days at the Academy trouncing his son in the training yard. Perhaps Reigan can convince his father to abide by your ruling. I was charmed once again by Lady Cornelia’s wit and vigor at the council table, however it is about time allowed other noblewomen at your dinner table so you may court a new wife._

12 Guardian Moon 1166

_Midwinter in the capitol was enchanting, it feels ages since the troubles of last year. I thank you again for blessing the engagement of my son Glenn. Count Galatea has produced so many sons I count myself blessed to secure the hand of his daughter (the only one to inherit his crest!). The elder Gautier son made quite an impression in the training yard, however I found myself most enjoying watching the little ones play. The Margrave’s concern about the Sreng border seems overblown considering our recent hardships stemmed from the sea. Gautier was not so badly hit by the plague, perhaps he thinks a couple raiders can garner him some royal attention. Your happiness is dear to me and I am pleased to find you joyful in love in the wake of Rhiannon’s passing. However I urge you to consider an alternate lady to join you in holy matrimony if not your royal bed._

23 Garland Moon 1167

_I plan to arrive in Fhirdiad by 1 Blue Sea Moon with my wife and children. There is much to discuss over the summer council, though again I look forward to seeing the children enjoy each others company. Count Galatea is sending his two eldest sons to represent him as well as little Ingrid and the Margrave will attend with his boys as well. Galatea’s territory may be poor, but his family proves most fertile of us—the Magravine has suffered another miscarriage and does not anticipate a full recovery. I cannot say I approve of your secret courtship, however, should it bear fruit I will wholeheartedly support your official union. It is high time Dimitri had a little brother or sister._

30 Red Wolf Moon 1167

_My plans to visit Fhirdiad for Dimitri’s 5 birthday are restored, the Gautier boy has been found and is recovering at home. Margrave Gautier's concerns about the security of the Sreng border have proven severe indeed if his child could be spirited away from their own estate. I am ashamed at my failure in judgement in this matter. We may convene an emergency council when the Margrave joins us for the Saint Chihol Feast. He also announced his intention to send Miklan to the Officers Academy this spring. At 17 he is old enough already to join us for a campaign in Sreng, however Gautier believes he will benefit from training in discipline and leadership._

14 Lone Moon 1167

_I expect to welcome you to Fraldarius at the new moon for our march north. Isa is pleased to host the Crown Prince. Glenn and Felix are so overjoyed to spend six moons with their friend I think they have forgotten I am marching to war. The security of Faerghus rests on our shoulders. I am relieved by your decision to formally crown Dimitri and solidify his claim before we march. I feel the guardianship you have granted Cornelia for the duration of your absence exceeds her station, although you are right to suggest I have no more suitable candidate. Her experience wrangling nobles (including your brother) is unquestionable and she possesses tact that Gustave sorely lacks. However I must contest the authority you have given her over the Western church. She is a former Imperial and while her Faith magic is impressive, she is not a devout woman, unofficial consort or not. I know that you will laugh and smile and I know I will forgive you—but I will not let you rest on our march until I have talked myself to death over your choices of the heart._

29 Red Wolf Moon 1168

_I am home a mere month between the conclusion of our campaign and my impending visit to Fhirdiad. I must say again how pleased I am that our boys get along so well. They have asked no less than twenty times today why we cannot ride early and reunite with their prince. Gautier’s eldest is back from the Academy, he passed through on his journey home. Margrave Gautier says he was called to hold the border through the winter, but I heard tell he was expelled from the Academy. What mischief he must have got in when you and I passed with honors. The younger Gautier boy seems most unfortunate. They thought he had been captured again and searched nearly two days before they found him in a derelict well. It seems none of the Gautiers will join us in Fhirdiad for Midwinter._

1 Great Tree Moon 1169

_I found your proposition regarding Duscar most interesting. We must speak more on it while we march north. The value of the mines and richness of the soil on the peninsula is significantly more tempting than the wastes we conquer in Sreng and less viciously guarded. Your consideration for improving their infrastructure is inspired. Much like Fraldarius prospers from trade passing through from the Alliance, the western territories could prosper by regulating trade out of Duscar. They already have a robust community of artisans, we would need only send a few Faerghun guild-masters to oversee them and their wares would be coveted across the continent. Preparing a trade route through the mountains will be tiresome, but certainly less costly than another war._

9 Red Wolf Moon 1170

_I must urge you again to end your relationship with Cornelia once and for all. She has failed again to provide you an heir. I understand you consider her a partner and she holds an important place in your council. It is your decision whether she warms your bed, but the realm needs a Queen. Dimitri has gone too long without a mother, Felix returned from his summer in Fhirdiad with all sorts of odd questions. I have compiled a list of eligible young Faerghun noblewomen for you to consider. I would tell you to share it with your brother, but you are better off without nephews competing for the crown as well (another incentive for you to sire more heirs)._

17 Lone Moon 1170

_Another quiet winter. It seems Miklan Gautier has proven a worthwhile defender of the north. His brother was ill again. While I hope the crest-bearing boy grows into a man—Felix is very fond of him—I fear he may not have strength enough to bear his family’s Lance. I am relieved you have ended things with Cornelia, I urge you again to marry well and soon. It is the perfect time to push ahead with your plans for Duscar before they take a cue from Dagda and Brigid and knock diplomacy from the table._

22 Garland Moon 1171

_I am pleased to host the prince for the remainder of the summer while you enjoy your ‘honeymoon’ in the Capitol. I suppose I should not be surprised by another odd romantic choice from you (a noble imperial widow escaping the insurrection—really) She is charming, you certainly like to play the gallant. May the Goddess shower you with blessings._

3 Guardian Moon 1171

_Isa succumbed to her illness a few nights ago. I suppose in a year you will be bullying me to remarry and feed every snide comment back to me. Glenn will be twelve at the end of this year, it is time for him to train as a squire. Pending your approval I will send him to Fhirdiad in the new year. Seiros’ blessing to you and Patricia._

21 Blue Sea Moon 1172

_Your letter was a ray of hope in dark times. A royal baby at last, thank Sothis! Come spring all Faerghus can rejoice. I am glad Felix is spending the summer in Fhirdiad with the other children, it is good for him to be away from home for a while and with his brother. His letters are a joy to receive._

4 Pegasus Moon 1172

_I grieve yours and Patricia’s loss. I am beginning to believe the plague of 1165 was truly a curse or at least a harbinger of woe. Since that time the oldest houses in Faerghus have failed to welcome a single living child. Several minor houses have taken to adopting children to take their names should their bloodlines fail. You and I have both lost wives. I find myself praying our children will live at least as long as we do._

17 Garland Moon 1173

From Gautier— _rode to inspect the border. Miklan Gautier commands the loyalty of his men and his name is feared by the Srengi. Felix is spending the summer at the Gautier estate while I tour the northern territories. There has been a rash of attacks by strange beasts and an uptick in bandit activity. I shall return for the autumn council, I hear you have welcomed more clever Imperial nobles to your court. Perhaps I should find a wife from there as well. Does Patricia have a sister?_

6 Great Tree Moon 1174

_I expect to meet with you at Aironrod in three weeks time. From there we can tour the western territories to entertain and persuade before the meeting with Duscar at the Rhodos Coast. Preparing a land route to the peninsula is proving more difficult than anticipated, we will have to rally Count Rowe to raise more men. I admit I was somewhat surprised to here you mention the close friendship between Cornelia and Patricia, though I suppose they have you in common. Give my love to my son._

3 Harpstring Moon 1175

_Expect me by Saint Macuil’s day for Glenn’s knighting. We can ride after to meet with Lord Lonato of Gaspard. Why must your brother insist on provoking the Western Church, their support is vital in building the road to Duscar! Never fear, I’ll give him an earful when I’m there._

15 Great Tree Moon 1176

_Blessed New Year. I shall arrive by the new moon to take up my post in Fhirdiad. I will assist Rufus to the best of my abilities (I will do all the work and try not to bother him) while you go and do your Kingly best. I am confident in our work, though I cannot help but worry (is it too late to send Gustave with you as well?) I know, I know, it’s not an invasion and you don’t want to bring an army. It is an important symbol of trust to bring your family through the mountains on the inaugural trip to Duscar. I pray that Dimitri and Glenn forge their friendship on this mission of peace the way you and I did on our first mission of war._

Here the letters end, Dimitri knows well what happened next.

~~ooooo~~

Breakfast again, toast growing cold and chamomile tea rattling in its cup as Dimitri drums at the tabletop.

He made sure to drape a thick cloth over it today, if only to save himself from splinters. Dimitri slept little the night before, reading and rereading the letters from Rodrigue. Trying in vain to piece them into his personal timeline. Lambert, Rodrigue, Cornelia, Patricia, Gustave—they lived a world apart in his memories. Tall shadows who always had somewhere else to be whether that be the other end of the drawing room or far into the tundra of Sreng.

It’s infuriating. Why hadn’t they told him anything? He was only thirteen when he lost them, but still. Of course his father didn’t tell him about his longstanding affair with his advisor. Of course Patricia said nothing of her daughter or the insurrection she escaped. Of course they painted Miklan Gautier’s iron grip on the border as impressive before word of his cruelty spread a little too far. Of course the young king was pushed to have more children, should Dimitri perish. But why had Rodrigue said nothing later? After Duscar Dimitri’s world shrank even further. There was only Gustave to thrust a lance in his hand and Rodrigue to groom him for kingship. Obviously neither of them suspected Cornelia’s true loyalties any more than Dimitri had before his arrest. They believed her ambitions were selfish, but pure in their way.

Gustave would consider court intrigue too unseemly for the prince’s ears and Rodrigue would not sully the memory of his king. Their mission was to place Dimitri on the throne, oblivious to the vipers around him.

Without guidance from his guardians, Dimitri was consumed by his quest for answers. And where had that obsession got him? He learned Edelgard was Patricia’s daughter? He thought Lord Arundel was suspicious? He had not considered Cornelia might be part of the Duscar conspiracy. And what was all that about Rufus and the Western Church? His search was too focused on finding a singular villain to crush and he was too concerned with hiding his bloodlust to ask for help.

Ah and here help is. Yawning and dressed in yesterday’s robes and poking chopped eggs and peppers onto his plate without so much as a ‘good morning’.

“Finally heard back from Constance.” Linhardt leans to drop a letter on Dimitri’s empty plate. “And we got one from Duke Fraldarius, addressed to you.”

Dimitri thumbs over the familiar blue-gray seal, and snaps it open.

26 Great Tree Moon 1187

His Highness Prince Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd

_I thank the Goddess daily for your return and pray this letter finds you well. Please I entreat you to visit me in Fraldarius. Ingrid assures me you are well enough to travel though I cannot say the same for myself. My injuries from the battle at Grondor Field were relatively minor, however I have been plagued by lingering frailty. I deeply regret being unable to come to Fhirdiad myself at this time, though I do not see myself in a state to travel for some moons. While the war was hard on Fraldarius, do not fear the security of traveling here now. Spring has been kind and the port is not only busier than it has been for many years, the ships trade more linens and wine than men and swords. I know your future is uncertain, but trust that I am ever here to serve._

Sothis Blessings,

Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius


	2. Linterlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt reflects on his situation as he and Dimitri prepare to ride to Itha and investigate the manor of former Regent, premier dead uncle, Archduke Rufus Blaiddyd. 
> 
> Dimitri loves horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no CW except for me making stuff up about fantasy horses

Harpstring Moon 1187

If Linhardt von Hevring were the sort of person to make assumptions about where his life would lead he could never have predicted this, not a year ago, not five, ten nor twenty years ago. That he is pursuing a line of fascinating research is not so surprising. That he is awake in the chilly pre-dawn of Faerghus spring and preparing to ride out with the the ex-prince, former feral king, erstwhile corpse that is Dimitri Alexandre Blaidyyd, is _unprecedented_.

Dimitri is introducing Linhardt to their mounts for their journey to investigate the ancestral Blaidyyd manor that broods over the plains of Itha. A wyvern could take them in an afternoon, but wyverns are scarce in Fhirdiad and the pegasi of Ingrid’s knights are in high demand. Also none could carry Dimitri even without armor. Also neither of them know how to fly. The winding road to Itha will carry them over rough cliffs, steep gorges, and a treacherous river, which his companion calls an easy two day ride.

Linhardt sighs into his heavy knitted muffler, half in complaint at the cold, half to disperse the cloying dust of the stables...a little more than half to protest the early hour. He agreed to this, he reminds himself. He _wants_ this. He's been itching to get to Itha after Dimitri shared his father's letters. They also agreed together that the harder road first would make the journey more enjoyable overall. After whenever they wrap up at Itha they will face a day or so of sloping hills to Fraldarius and after that it's a wonderfully flat road from there back to the Capitol. There is to be only one night spent camping in the wild as they will pass no real villages on the way to Itha. Tonight they would be lucky to find shelter in the barn of some isolated homestead or tent of a transient goatherd. After tonight, he groans inwardly anticipating the the damp chill of windy clifftop, after tonight it will be real beds and toasty fireplaces and several libraries and it will be more than worth it. This is nothing compared to what he endured in the war, but he doesn’t like dwelling on that.

Dimitri is still talking about horses, as Linhardt stamps his feet. Something about the training of a crown prince of Faerghus focusing on breeding and training warhorses not palfreys and something about supply trains for armies being all about feeding destriers, not accounting for the versatility of ‘common’ horses like these sturdy Gautier beasts with wooly coats and gentle faces that can live off dirt and lichen.

“This is Roman,” Dimitri says, his voice deep and low. He is strapping a short spear to the saddle of a bulky gelding with an ashy coat dipping into inky stockings that feather over his hooves. He strokes the geldings nose, “he’s become my favorite.”

“And Priya here, will be taking care of you,” Dimitri smiles and leads Lin to a bloodred mare, already saddled and loaded up for their trip thank the Goddess. Her unruly mane is cropped close and spiky and her tail has been tightly bundled.

“She is exceptionally attentive and should be happy to follow me if you happen to nod off.”

“Thanks ‘Mitri”, Lin yawns and shuffles toward his chosen mount to say hello. He really does appreciate it, even though he is perfectly competent with horses, having served as a Holy Knight in the war. Dimitri seems content to have gotten up early to do the work, he’s radiating a calm like Linhardt’s never seen before.

Dimitri cradles his hands together and stoops to offer Lin a leg up, like he’s not nearly as tall and plenty strong enough to hoist himself. He swings gracefully into the saddle and takes a minute to arrange his robes, his cloak, his hood and scarf. He pats at the saddle bags arranged behind him and the rapier at his side. They are traveling lightly in supplies and weapons both. There have been no reports of bandits or beasts on their route, and they're both forces to be reckoned with unarmed. Dimitri wears only light leathers under his furred blue mantle. In addition to the short spear, he has wootz steel longbow on his back—to practice he said, angling for Lin to offer guidance. He’s no expert but the professor made their whole class pass intermediate archery certifications.

“Are you ready, friend?”

Dimitri has lead Roman out the open stable doors, to mount him in the courtyard. Maybe he is a bit taller than Lin. And on a taller horse. Or maybe he just wants to get going as much as Lin wants to crawl back to his bed. He gathers the reins and nudges Priya to walk and a light dry snow as started to fall for Mother Sothis’ sake.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has a full five inches on Linhardt but life as Caspar's best friend as given Lin extreme height confidence.
> 
> This started as the opening for the next chapter but I decided to separate this bit out as Lin focused and the next chapter will be longer, focused on Dimitri, and cover the rest of the events of Harpstring Moon 1187.
> 
> Next up, mysteries of Itha, surprise family secrets, and a reunion at Fraldarius.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> check out my twitter @heirophantomth1 for updates, notes, and various headcannony things
> 
> next chapter 'Anniversary'


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